In that moment, she realized he had no intention of giving her up. His hints that she had a choice in the matter were empty. The humiliating proof of how skilled a manipulator he was lay between her thighs where she’d let him ring her, and he was attempting the same now—trying to make her believe that she chose her own fate as he expertly guided her where he wanted her.
She might have been scared and broken when she came to him, even naive. But Selma wasn’t stupid.
“I’m… still scared of you, I won’t deny it,” she said softly. “You’re a demon, after all. But… you’ve shown me kindness. Pleasure. I will stay with you—if you’ll have me.”
Through her lowered lashes she saw his warm smile, the last vestiges of anger draining from his posture. He bent for her, lifting her to her feet before he pulled her close and pushed her hair out of her face.
“Then you shall be mine, sweetheart. For the rest of eternity, you will belong to me.”
Selma let him pull her all the way in so his traitorous heat surrounded her from all sides, and she didn’t flinch when he sniffed at her hair in greedy gulps. She’d play the submissive female for him until he lowered his guard. And then she’d be gone, and he could spend eternity alone for all she cared.
“I’ll take you to your room,” Marathin murmured against her scalp. “You need to rest, and I need time to draw up your contract. Once you’ve given your soul to me, I plan on teaching you exactly what a good little Breeder you’ll make.”
9
Selma
Despite the worry rolling in her stomach, Selma had slept soundly, her exhausted body overriding her anxiety. Apparently getting fucked into a stupor did wonders for your REM cycle.
She stared at the ceiling as last night’s endeavor replayed in her mind. The moment dreamless sleep fully released her from its grip, dread clawed its way back into her consciousness.
She’d never thought much about the concept of a soul, but it was pretty impossible to pretend Marathin had been speaking in metaphors when he’d mentioned giving hers to him. And signing a contract... Odds were he was being very literal—seeing how he was a demon and all.
But what other choice did she have? Tell him she’d changed her mind and get auctioned off to some other demon? Sure, she could take her chances at escaping then, but there was no guarantee she’d ever get an opportunity. Here, now, she knew she could create one.
It’d be ten days before Marathin could take her to his own domain, which meant it’d be ten days where he wouldn’t be able to fully control her movements. Sure, Ravenswood House wasn’t a place where you came and went as you pleased, but she’d be willing to wager that her chances of escape were a lot better here than they ever would be in another demon’s grasp.
Which meant… She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to push back the rush of panic. She would have to sign her soul over to the demon who’d captured her. Somehow, somewhere, there had to be a way of breaking the contract. She’d find it once she was safe.
Groaning from the pain shooting through every stiff muscle, Selma struggled to sit up—her next “checkup” with Marathin was booked for shortly after breakfast, and she needed to shower and somehow calm down before the nurse came with her meal.
She shoved the duvet aside, and with a wince swung her legs over the side of the bed. White streaks of dried semen had crusted on her inner thighs, and she had no doubt that the rest of her appearance would cause an even remotely caring member of staff to ask questions.
Selma shuddered at the thought, the demon’s words ringing clear in her memory. He would silence anyone who so much as thought to intervene, and she couldn’t bear the idea of some innocent person dying for her.
Carefully she shifted her weight to her feet and pushed off the bed. Her muscles protested violently, and she groaned at the effort she had to make to keep standing.
But the place that should have hurt the most—her violated core—seemed... perfectly fine. The muscles were tired, but there was no pain.
Gingerly she squeezed her pelvic muscles to test the waters further, but they reacted as they should, albeit slower than normal.
Huh.
Staggering, she made her way to the bathroom and managed to get out of the shirt and panties she’d slept in before stepping under the blessedly warm spray of the shower.
The relief was instant, and she moaned with pleasure as the hot water worked on her stiffened limbs and back, washing off the dried evidence of Marathin’s indiscretions in the process.
She stood there until a firm knock rapped against the bathroom door, and Nurse Marie entered with no further warning.
The friendly woman rounded on her, a minor frown on her face as she ensured that her patient was not in the process of self-harming in any way.
“How long have you been in there, child? Your skin is starting to prune up.”
Child. Selma estimated that they were about the same age, but being a patient at a mental institution tended to strip you of any authority. She turned off the spray and attempted a smile.
“Oh, too long, I’m sure. I always liked my hot showers. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The other woman stayed put, staring at her naked body. “How did you get those?”
